


Thursday's Pup

by maliwanhellfire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, the silliest thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliwanhellfire/pseuds/maliwanhellfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dog shows up on a Thursday</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thursday's Pup

**Author's Note:**

> This is the silliest thing I've ever written and honestly, I feel a little bad about it.

The dog shows up on a Thursday, while Derek is waiting for pizza. The dog is pointy, and skinny, and whitish brown. Derek discovers it staring through his front window, shaking with excitement. It’s disconcerting. Dogs don’t usually take to Derek without persuasion. He doesn’t like the new development. At all. 

Derek goes to the front door to shoo the dog off. He growls and flashes his eyes at it. It sticks its tongue out at him then tries to nudge past his legs, into his apartment. He closes the door on its nose. The delivery man arrives five minutes later.

“Dude, is this your dog?” He asks, looking down.

The dog is flat to the ground, staring soulfully between Derek and the delivery guy. It commando crawls closer to the door, and whines. Cringing, it stretches its neck delicately until its head reaches Derek’s boot.

“I’ve never seen this dog before in my life.” Derek replies.

“That’ll be ten bucks.” 

The delivery guy is glaring at him. Derek doesn’t need that in his life. He doesn’t need it. Derek hands over his money, expression flat, and grabs the pizza box. He ignores the delivery guy calling him an asshole under his breath.

Outside, the dog starts to howl. 

\---

It’s eight in the evening when the buzzer starts going off. He opens the door to a woman he recognizes but does not know. She lives a few doors down, drives a prius and has nice hair. She doesn’t look any happier with him than the delivery man had.

“For god’s sake, let your poor dog inside.” The dog is pressed against her calf. “He’s not even fenced in.”

Derek hates the stupid dog.

“He’s not my dog.”

“He clearly is.”

“He’s not!”

The dog winces, then flops down to the ground and begins the same whining, crawling con that he’d tried the first time. Derek growls under his breath.

His neighbor gasps and, joy, Derek knows he’s made an enemy.

“I think I need to make some calls to the landlord.” She says, and no.

Just no.

“I’ll take the dog in.”

“Good.” Her expression is glacial.

“But it’s not my dog.”

“He is not your dog. He.”

The dog runs in like the hounds of hell are behind it, skidding against the concrete walkway and colliding with Derek’s legs. Derek slams the door as soon as the dog is inside. 

He’s going to take it to a shelter. And not one of the nice “No-kill” shelters either. Whatever else the dog is, it’s a manipulative asshole. 

 

\---

 

The dog sniffs everything Derek owns. It sniffs his tv, his couch, his rubbish bin, his fridge, and his goddamn laundry basket. It sniffs the laundry basket twice, then gives Derek a close-mouthed look. Derek feels judged. 

The dog finally settles on looking pointedly at a highlighter that’s sitting on Derek’s coffee table. 

“Don’t eat that.” Derek says, before going to bed.

He leaves the dog a bowl of water and a locked bedroom door. 

When he wakes up in the morning, the dog’s muzzle is yellow, and there’s fading ink all over his kitchen tiles.

The lines are wobbly, and he can see where the dog made practice attempts before starting his major work.

The ink spells “StilEs.” Beneath that is written “U AssHolE.”

Derek says, “Well you could’ve just said so.” Because he is an asshole.

\---

 

“Scott.” Derek says.

“Derek.” Scott says.

The younger man sounds tired. Derek can hear his sighs over the crackly reception that he gets in his living room. Stiles is rolling across the floor and baying. Derek thinks he’s happy about hearing Scott’s voice.

“So. Stiles has gone missing.” He replies, watching him flail.

“What? Who told you?”

It makes sense that Stiles turned into a dog. Derek can’t imagine him turning into something with dignity. 

“I think he’s at my place.”

“You th… Derek.”

“He says he’s Stiles.”

“Derek.”

“Wrote that he was Stiles.”

“Derek, what is going on?”

“Stiles is a dog.”

In response, Stiles bays loudly, directly into the cell’s microphone. Scott doesn’t reply for a full minute. Derek watches the seconds count down on the call menu.

“I’m coming over.” Scott says, and Stiles barks at him.

\---

 

Derek catches Stiles trying to use the toilet, and Stiles bites him. 

They don’t look at each other for the rest of the day.

\---

 

Derek opens the front door when he hears Scott coming down the street. Stiles eyes him warily, edging towards the entrance, unwilling to be locked out. He starts when he sees the blue Civic pull up. 

Scott throws himself from the passenger seat, a boombox in his left hand. He presses play and the fantasy overture blares out through the speakers and all over the apartment complex. Stiles is so overcome with excitement that his hips shake. Scott puts the player down and stretches out his arms, running towards Stiles with all the desperation of celibate sex-maniac. Stiles runs his legs so fast that he skids on the asphalt. 

Derek’s neighbours watch on in confusion as the pair collide, Stiles launching himself into Scott’s arms before Scott turns them in slow motion. 

“Told you he wasn’t my dog.” Derek yells at the woman who lives a few doors down.

“Oh gross dude, your lipstick’s out.” Scott says.

\---

 

Scott refuses to talk about or to anyone but Stiles, so Derek is forced to get the story out of Allison.

“We really don’t know how he did it.” She says.

“Never leave me again, dude.” Scott says.

Stiles whines. 

“How do we fix him?” Derek asks.

Stiles and Scott look at him with horrified offence. 

“How do we fix them?” Derek amends.

“He looks like a pointer… Maybe he’s got to find something?” Allison suggests.

Stiles and Scott share a guilty look. Derek and Allison notice.

“So, um…” Scott says.

\---

 

“Come on dude, can’t hurt to try.” Scott says.

Stiles huffs, looks at the ground, and raises his right, front paw. At Derek. 

Derek blinks and Stiles is back to being a boy. He is also naked. 

“When did you get a tattoo?” Derek asks, and Stiles blushes at him.

\---

 

“So this was embarrassing.” Stiles says, drowning a little in borrowed jeans and a henley.

Derek shrugs.

“Could I maybe get a number this time, so I don’t have to repeat this experiment?” He asks.

Derek slides a piece of paper into Stiles’ pocket. 

“Don’t lose it.” He advises. 

Stiles smiles shyly. 

A few doors down Derek can hear his neighbor grumbling about cradle robbers.

**Author's Note:**

> [Dude, here's my tumblr.](http://maliwanhellfires.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: Good point brought up by someone who was admittedly trolling, the ages aren't very clear in this fic. I wrote a lot of Sterek before I knew any better, and when I thought the age difference was three years, and I regret that now. I imagined everyone as college age in this story, so consider that the canon for it. Problematic writing: you live and learn and figure out where appropriate boundaries are.


End file.
